The Pendulum Swings Back

6.20.05

This
week brings Solstice, the moment of the year when the Sun reaches
its logical extreme of bright and the ratio of daylight to dark has
no further to go in its current direction.

With
the Sun entering Cancer late on Monday night Pacific time and early
Tuesday morning in the rest of the US, so officially begins the season
of summer at least in the Northern Hemisphere. Meanwhile, down
below the equator, the very same astrological transition (that is,
the Sun crossing from Gemini to Cancer) has a different seasonal consequenceit's
Winter Solstice in the great South. And it doesn't happen until
late Tuesday afternoon on Sydney and Melbourne clocks.

During
Solstice time, not only do we all experience the most extreme examples
of the type of day our season bringsthe longest or shortest
of the yearwe also experience the most extreme seasonal differences
from one another, based on our latitudinal location on the globe.
The lighter it is in Edmonton, the darker in Cape Town.

Then,
at its farthest point, the pendulum heads back the other direction,
and the ceaseless cycling of the seasons continues.

It
is interesting to ponder how our calendar deems the entrance of the
Sun into Cancer as the beginning of summer (to speak North-Hemi-centrically
for a moment) though, as of this same instant, the days are
already starting to get shorter again. Astrologically speaking, we
mark our seasonal starts by the Sun's ingress (or entrance)
into one of the cardinal signs (Aries, Cancer, Libra and Capricorn),
which are regarded as the most dynamically active and initiatory.
When the Sun is at 0 degrees Cancer and Capricorn, we celebrate the
Solstices. At 0 Aries and Libra, the Sun brings the Equinoxes.

Yet,
what we generally consider the beginning of summer is also, by virtue
of its position in the seasonal cycle, the height of the season,
or what was traditionally observed as 'midsummer's eve' (Shakespeare,
anyone?). In places where summer is supposedly just starting, summery
weather has been proudly displaying itself for several weeks already,
even if we still say it's spring. Now that the Sun is at its peak
brightnesswhat could be thought of as its 'full moon' of the
yearwe can't avoid noticing summer has snuck up on us again.

But,
oh, the irony that, just as we finally realize the full light of summer
is here, it begins to wane toward winter again. Though winter is still
months away, the truth is, it only gets darker from here.

This
acknowledgment of the seasonal pole that is opposite our here-and-now
is a fundamental part of experiencing unity with the wheel of life
as it moves from birth to fertility to death to rebirth. It is the
circular path of both the seasons and our individual existences. Just
like the yin/yang symbol, every patch of darkness has a speck
of light at its center, and every field of light its dot of dark.
In pagan festivities to mark the blustery boisterousness of midsummer,
celebrants stage the battle between the God of Oak (or Light) and
the God of Holly (or Shadow) and though the Sun still beats
down brilliant and hot at Summer Solstice, it is Shadow who emerges
as victor. The ritual reminds us, in the height of summer, that winter
is coming.

Still,
for the time being, summer remains high. It is the occasion for honoring
the Sun-god at its apex of manifest power, as we realize this peaklike
everything in our earthly existencewill not last forever. While
we've got the Sun so steadfastly on our side, we must take advantage
of his abundant creative force and life-preserving joyfulness. With
that ever-so-slight hint of decay in the air, we'll want to gather
some Sun energy into our hearts for later use, once the winter's dark
overcomes. Summer Solstice is traditionally a magnificent time to
practice a little sex magickchildren conceived now will be born
at the initiatory height of spring, as the flowers are barely peeking
out their buds.

Those
for whom this week is Winter Solstice face the opposite edge, the
long dark nights of winter and the subsequent result of decreased
daylight on mood. Difficult as it may be to endure, for many, seasonal
disaffection is an inextricable companion to the winter stretch. But
optimistic hope for overcoming the slump of depression or despair
is woven into the fabric of Winter Solstice celebrations. From these
dark depths comes rebirth. While in hibernating homebodyness, the
hearth fire must be kept alive to get us through to spring. Over the
coming months, these few burning embers will grow to full light.

Whether
observing Summer or Winter Solstice, fire as a symbol of the Sun's
vital force is fundamental to the tribute. The Sun is our star, center
of our solar system and absolutely essential for life. We need the
Sun, but we know it will come and go, through day and night, and summer
and winter. Fire is a great gift, but we must use it with care in
order to sustain ourselves. When we live in sync with the seasons,
we instinctively give and take, act and react, enjoy now and reserve
for later.

Likewise,
as celebrating Solstice makes us aware of the seasonal differences
in our own lives, it also holds the potential to remind us of how
differently all of us, across this diverse globe, experience each
moment in time. While Alaskans cherish their fleeting opportunity
to wear short sleeves, residents of Ushuaia, on the southernmost tip
of Argentina, bundle up and hunker down.

Beyond
these stereotypical images, numerous other climate zones shape the
lives of their residents in annual season cycles seemingly foreign
to usdry and hot into cool and crisp, the rainy season and the
rainier season, temperate year-round, hurricanes and monsoons and
tornados (oh my!). Here in San Francisco, summer means the beginning
of chilly afternoon fog, and the best heat won't show up until around
September.

We
gain insight into our most extreme weather conditions when we think
about how unique to our respective localities these earthly happenings
are, and how ultimately privileged we are to experience them, however
annoying they sometimes are. Ancient Egypt wouldn't have been what
it was, if the Nile didn't flood on a regular basis.

And
it truly blows the mind to imagine how many different folks are leading
different lives in different contexts all around the world as you
sit and read this, thanks to the relativity of time and space. Right
now, it is day and night and summer and winter and hot and cold and
happy and sadall light and all shadow, always all at once.

Writing
this website gives me the blessed opportunity to connect far across
this world, providing me the perpetual reminder that Summer Solstice
is always also Winter Solsticeand Monday is also Tuesday. It's a
helpful perspective for an astrologer to have. It's also a reminder
never to get too comfortable in one place or one perspective, for
the nature of the seasonsand of lifeis that everything
is always already changing.